ndow he could see the tree
beneath which he had made his confession in an effort to kill Betty's
kindness. If he had followed her to the castle then Lambert wouldn't be
limping about exposing a happiness that made George envious and
discontented. It was a reminder with a vengeance that his friends were
mating. Was he, like Blodgett, doomed to a revolting celibacy?

Blodgett, as far as that went, seemed quite to have recovered from the
blow Sylvia had given his pride and heart. With his increasing fortune
his girth had increased, his cheeks grown fuller, his eyes smaller.

He was chatting, when George came down, with Old Planter, who sat
slouched in an easy chair in the library, and Mr. Alston. It was evident
that the occasion was not a joyous one for Betty's father.

"I've half a mind to sell out here," George heard him say, "and take a
share in a cooeperative apartment in town. Without Betty the house will
be like a world without a sun."

Blodgett, George guessed, was tottering on the threshold of expansive
sympathy. He drew back, beckoning George.

"Here's your purchaser, Alston. I never knew a half back stay single so
long. And now he's a hero. He's bound to need a nest soon."

Mr. Alston smiled at him.

"Is there anything in that, George?"

George wanted to tell Blodgett to mind his own business. How could the
man, after his recent experience, make cumbersome jokes of that colour?

"There was a time," Mr. Alston went on, "when I fancied you were going
to ask me for Betty. The thought of refusing used to worry me."

George laughed uncomfortably.

"So you would have refused?"

"Naturally. I don't think I could have said yes to Lambert if it hadn't
been for the war. If you ever have a daughter--just one--you'll know
what I mean."

From the three men George received an impression of imminence, shared it
himself. They talked merely to cover their suspense. They were like
people in a throne room, attentive for the entrance of a figure,
exalted, powerful, nearly legendary. Betty, he reflected, had become
that because she was about to marry. He found himself fascinated, too,
looking at the door, waiting with a choked feeling for that girl who had
unconsciously tempted him from their first meeting. Her arrival, indeed,
had about it something of the processional. Mrs. Planter entered the
doorway first, nodding absent-mindedly to the men. Betty's mother
followed, as imperial as ever, more so, if anything, George